Where golf is only part of the fun
Chamberlain Park is a special place for the Sunday early starters, and they don’t want it to change
Fallen maple leaves make a pretty red carpet on the hillock behind the 18th green at Chamberlain Park as the group of Sunday morning regulars plods up the final fairway.
They’ve made an early start, and not just because the rain is threatening. They’re early starters every Sunday.
“And Saturdays,” says Eti Kapisi, who is captain of the small club that operates at the public course. “And every holidays.”
You can tell that they know how to hit a golf ball, because when I ask them what they shoot, they deftly avoid the question. And an early start ensures they won’t get caught up among the Sunday morning bush-bashers and hackers who zig-zag up the wide fairways.
Chamberlain Park, beside the motorway between Western Springs Park and Mt Albert, has always welcomed golfers of all abilities. There’s none of the stuffiness that often prevails at clubs. They don’t insist on collared shirts, for example, although a shirt is a must and jandals are a no-no. It’s cheap, too: $32 on weekends, less on weekdays.
It’s where many Aucklanders learned the meaning of words like slice, shank and top. It is where many first encountered the eerie mind-fade that allows you to forget the 113 dreadful shots and seven lost balls
It’s a place to catch up with your mates and have a laugh . . .
golfer Sean Stevenson
and go home glowing from the memory of the 6-iron that came right off the sweet spot and fizzed through the clear air, drawing ever so slightly before landing, bouncing twice and stopping within a metre of the pin. Never mind that you three-putted from there.
I first played Chamberlain in the early 70s, before the motorway carved several holes off it and forced a redesign. It’s still where I go for my thrice-yearly weekday game.
I share the place with taxi drivers taking a few hours off between rush hours and groups of Koreans – a quartet of women in extravagant sunhats followed by their four menfolk with expensive gear – all of them playing correct and unexciting shots that betray the long hours spent
on driving ranges.
It’s a short course, with few sand traps – the cost of sand is a hideous maintenance expense. The major hazard is a creek crossing three consecutive fairways on the back nine. It used to be patrolled by youngsters with their trousers rolled up, who foraged for balls in the weeds and sold them to passing players. They’ve gone now, chased away by health and safety, no doubt.
In short, the course has its own culture, as strong as that of the august private courses whose members now hold their noses as they admit non-members to balance the books.
But now the institution faces a threat to its survival, at least in its present form. Rumours last month that the 32ha block of land was to be developed for housing proved wide of the mark, but the local Albert-Eden Community Board has designs on converting the northeastern third – roughly holes 5 to 9 – into sports fields.
Its report, available online, says regional golf courses are in use 23 per cent of the available time – much more use than sports fields would get, you would think – and proposes an “initial concept plan” incorporating a short course for beginners and a driving range.
Needless to say, this doesn’t impress the Sunday group I talk to.
“A lot of us are local,” says Michael Annandale, “and this is the only place we can meet up and play without a booking and have fun. These other, exclusive clubs, it’s all about who you know. Here you can rock up and play with anyone.”
“And it’s not just about the golf,” says Sean Stevenson. “It’s a place to catch up with your mates and have a laugh.’’
What eventually happens will depend on public feedback during a month-long consultation period that begins on July 7. But as long as the status quo remains, you’ll find this group on the fairways most weekend mornings.
Stevenson’s Siberian husky Rafael will be padding along on his leash, sitting patiently on the green edge while they putt. And in defiance of the rule that limits groups to four, they’ll be playing as a five – though they’re so good they won’t be holding anyone up.
Kapisi smiles when I point out the breach to him and looks at the dog. “It’s that sort of place,” he says.